


Reciprocity

by Spork_in_the_Road



Series: October Spook-Fest: 31 Days of Prompts [7]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Chamber of Secrets, Crack, Harry makes a deal that he doesn't fully understand the repercussions of, M/M, Tom is manipulative and a bad person, back at it again with dubious morality, basically Harry is a 12 year old with no filter, potential for grey or dark Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-08-16 20:51:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16502510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spork_in_the_Road/pseuds/Spork_in_the_Road
Summary: “I AM LORD VOLDEMORT,” it read. Harry stared at the words, then back to Tom—who once again looked supremely happy with himself—and then back to the words.“What?” Harry asked, unable to keep the incredulity from his voice. Nor was he able to stop the disbelieving laughter that tore through him. “No you’re not.”





	Reciprocity

**Author's Note:**

> October 7th -- darkness, bones
> 
> I'm now so late that it's no longer October. I would like to apologize in advance for the lack of sense that this makes.

When Harry had pictured the Chamber of Secrets, he’d imagined a larger, grander version of the Slytherin common room. He imagined soft, green velvet sofas and sleek black tile. He half-thought that there might be an entire wall made of pure silver, or an emerald chandelier, or _something_. Because the Slytherin common room was nothing if not outrageously grandiose—bordering on garish, really—and Harry had kind of just assumed that Salazar would have made the Chamber in a similarly ostentatious fashion.

 

But the Chamber of Secrets was _nasty_. Or at least, the pipe-way to get there was.

 

There were bones everywhere— _please don’t be human,_ he muttered to himself—and though they had been picked clean, presumably by the basilisk, the rest of the Chamber looked like it hadn’t seen a good _scourgify_ in the last five hundred years at least. It had been less than two minutes since Harry had opened up the entrance in Myrtle’s bathroom and already his face was coated in dirt and who knew what else. His robes would probably never come clean. _If we get out of here alive,_ he thought.

 

“Eugh. This is disgusting,” Ron said, echoing Harry’s own thoughts.

 

Harry glanced back at the redhead, who was grimacing down at the bones as they crunched under his feet, and then over to Professor Lockhart. The older man looked as though he might bolt at any moment, and now that they were all down here, Harry had to admit that perhaps this was a bad idea. Lockhart clearly wasn’t going to be any help, and Ron…well, Ron’s wand was a mess. Maybe he should’ve told Ron to take Lockhart to Dumbledore instead of dragging them both down here with him.

 

As if further proving his uselessness, Lockhart collapsed.

 

“Great,” Ron said dryly. He raised an unimpressed brow and leaned forward to get a better look. “I think he’s fainted.”

 

Harry was about to tell Ron to just leave him when the older man lurched forward and grabbed the redhead’s wand. Lockhart scrambled to his feet inelegantly, pointing the taped-together wand at Harry.

 

“Ah, I’m afraid this is where it ends, boys,” the older man said, not sounding the slightest bit apologetic. There was something manic in his eyes, something that spoke of desperation and fear and greed all at once. “You won’t remember a thing. But don’t worry. I’ll make sure our story is known. How we were too late to save poor Ginny. How the two of you went mad at the sight of her mangled body. How I killed the basilisk. The hero of Hogwarts.”

 

Harry was content to let the man monologue while he tried to figure out what to do. His own wand was in his pocket, and though Lockhart was no duelist, Harry doubted that he could reach for his wand and fire off a spell before Lockhart noticed. _If only Ron could provide a distraction._ But no, the redhead was just as frozen as Harry was, and there was nothing Ron could do without putting himself at risk.

 

And then Lockhart smiled. Not the flashy, charming grin that he’d supposedly won an award for, but something cold. Harry wondered if this was the last thing all of Lockhart’s victims saw. Not that they’d remember.

 

“Obliviate,” the older man shouted, but instead of the spell firing outward like Harry expected—and he had already reached for his wand, was already trying to cast a _protego_ , but didn’t know if he’d be fast enough—the magic crackled backwards along the cracks in Ron’s wand. The force of the magic launched Lockhart back into the cavernous wall, and the whole tunnel shook.

 

Harry was glad he’d had the presence of mind to scramble backwards as rocks tumbled, collapsing the tunnel right where he’d been standing only moments before.

 

“Harry!” Ron called. “Are you alright?”

 

“Fine,” he called back. “You?”

 

“Yeah!” There was a brief pause where all Harry could hear was a muffled conversation. It seemed Lockhart wasn’t dead after all. _Pity._ “Lockhart’s spell backfired. He doesn’t know who he is!”

 

Harry eyed the pile of rocks in front of him. They could stop and take the time to clear it, but that would take a while and who knew how long Ginny had left.

 

“Try to clear some of the rubble,” Harry called back. “I’m going on ahead.”

 

He didn’t wait for a response, just pushed forward. The tunnel was dark and quiet except for the occasional drip of water echoing. It was eerie, like one of the muggle horror movies Dudley occasionally watched. Harry half expected the basilisk to jump out at him from behind every corner, but it seemed like he was alone. He hissed at the snakes guarding yet another entrance, and finally the main section of the Chamber of Secrets was revealed to him.

 

Ginny lay just ahead, and the danger was momentarily forgotten as Harry rushed towards her. He dropped to his knees, wand skittering across the ground. The floor was wet and he could feel it soaking through the fabric at his knees, but he hardly noticed. Ginny was paler than he’d ever seen her—an impressive feat, considering that she’d always looked a little washed out—and ice cold.

 

“Ginny, please don’t be dead,” he muttered. Harry barely knew the girl, had only spoken to her a handful of times, none of which were memorable. But she was a Weasley, and the Weasleys were the closest thing to family that Harry had. He took her hand in his, pressing his fingers against her wrist. He’d caught a glimpse of a crime drama TV show once and that was how they’d checked for a pulse. It was there, but weak, just a flutter under her skin.

 

“Wake up,” Harry said, tightening his grip on her wrist. “Wake up, Ginny. Please. Come on.”

 

Maybe he could slap her awake. Not exactly pleasant, but it was supposed to be effective. But before he could do that, Harry heard the echo of footsteps behind him.

 

“She won’t wake,” a soft, pleasant voice said. Harry turned and saw Tom Riddle standing above him, looking every bit as handsome as he had in the diary. He seemed entirely unchanged from the memory Harry had witnessed: dark hair perfectly combed, robes neat, elegant posture. But there was something in the older boy’s eyes that Harry couldn’t identify. Something that unsettled him.

 

“Tom.” Harry watched the boy walk closer. He looked so real, so alive, but Harry still had to ask, “Are you a ghost?”

 

“A…memory,” Tom said. “Preserved in a diary for fifty years.”

 

“What do you mean she won’t wake?” Harry asked. Tom wasn’t making a whole lot of sense, but there were bigger issues at the moment. He frowned. “We have to get her out of here. We have to get a professor. There’s a basilisk—“

 

“She won’t come until she’s called,” Tom said plainly. Harry felt his body stiffen for a moment. He turned slowly to look at the older boy, and with no small amount of dread, noted that Riddle had picked up his wand.

 

“Give me my wand, Tom,” Harry said slowly. The older boy’s lips twitched.

 

“You won’t be needing it.”

 

Harry’s scowl deepened. “I don’t think you understand. We need to go. You have to help me get Ginny out of here.”

 

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Harry,” Tom said, and Harry really wished people would stop saying that to him. “You see, as poor Ginny grows weaker, I grow stronger.”

 

Harry’s mind whirled to piece everything together, and he ignored the way Tom’s lips curled into something smug, cruel.

 

“Yes, Harry.” Tom twirled the holly wand in his fingers. “Ginny was the one who opened the Chamber of Secrets. Ginny petrified Mrs. Norris and all the mudbloods. Ginny wrote the threatening messages on the walls.”

 

Harry’s green eyes narrowed. “No. She didn’t. You did, though.”

 

Tom raised a brow as if daring Harry to prove it.

 

“You can’t do much in a diary, can you?” Harry said, a familiar anger burning through him as the pieces fell into place. He was no Hermione, but the more he thought about it, the more obvious it all seemed. “After all, if you could’ve appeared like this earlier, I imagine you would have. It can’t be much fun to stay stuck as a book for fifty years.”

 

Tom’s expression of smug satisfaction faltered at Harry’s words, and if anything, that only spurred him on.

 

“You needed Ginny. You’ve already said as much.” Harry glared at the older boy. “You’ve been controlling her.”

 

“You’ll find I can be very persuasive,” Tom said, and Harry thought he looked far too pleased with himself.

 

“Well, she’s eleven, so I don’t imagine it took a great deal of skill,” Harry snapped.

 

Tom’s jaw clenched. “Don’t forget, Harry Potter. I fooled you too.” Before Harry could protest, Tom continued, “Ginny had told me all about you, how you defeated Lord Voldemort as a mere baby. I was interested, excited even, to meet you. But you’re rather ordinary, aren’t you?”

 

Harry shrugged, not offended by Tom’s assessment. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell everyone.”

 

The older boy frowned, seemingly thrown off by Harry’s casual dismissal of Tom’s insult.

 

“How did you do it, then?” Tom demanded. “How did you, as a baby of no extraordinary power, defeat the greatest dark wizard of all time?”

 

_That’s a bit generous,_ Harry thought with a snort. Voldemort had to have been powerful, Harry knew, because people wouldn’t have been terrified of him otherwise. But the greatest of all time? Unlikely. And besides, Harry’s own personal experience to the man had been less than impressive. After all, would the greatest dark wizard of all time get stuck as a parasite on the back of some idiot’s head?

 

“What do you care?” Harry finally asked. “Voldemort was after your time.”

 

Tom sneered. “Voldemort is my past, present, and future.”

 

_Weirdly obsessive,_ Harry thought, even as Tom started to write his own name in the air with Harry’s wand. Was Tom some sort of…Voldemort fanboy? Some kind of stalker?

 

And then, with a flick of Harry’s wand, the letters rearranged themselves.

 

“I AM LORD VOLDEMORT,” it read. Harry stared at the words, then back to Tom—who once again looked supremely happy with himself—and then back to the words.

 

“What?” Harry asked, unable to keep the incredulity from his voice. Nor was he able to stop the disbelieving laughter that tore through him. “No you’re not.”

 

Tom’s smirk dropped. “Yes, I am,” he snapped.

 

Harry wrinkled his nose. “Are you sure?”

 

“What? Of bloody course I’m sure.”

 

“You just look…different,” Harry said, gesturing vaguely at Tom’s face. The older boy was still glaring at him, but Harry couldn’t seem to stop himself. “I mean, like, _really_ different.”

 

Tom’s jaw clenched. “How descriptive, Potter. Do explain.”

 

Harry shook his head, still laughing under his breath. “For starters, you’ve got your own body instead of hitchhiking on the back of Professor Quirrel’s head.”

 

The older boy’s lip curled. “Yes, Ginny mentioned something about that.”

 

“You’ve also got hair this time. And eyebrows,” Harry said, ignoring Tom’s increasingly foul attitude. “And your skin!”

 

“What about my skin?” the older boy snapped.

 

“It’s not ashy and gross. Or wrinkly. Or half translucent.” Harry was staring at Tom hard, as if trying to find any evidence of the Voldemort he knew. “And you look human.”  


“As opposed to what?” Tom asked, and now there was a hint of fear in his voice alongside the anger.

 

Harry shrugged. “You looked kinda snakey. Not really scaly, but, like, you had these crazy red eyes. Oh, and no nose.”

 

Tom’s hands flew to his nose.

 

“Well…it wasn’t totally gone, just squished. You had little nostrils though.” Harry cringed. “Can’t imagine that was pleasant, underneath Quirrel’s turban and all. He had a _thing_ about garlic.”

 

Tom looked like he was about to speak again, but Harry beat him to it.

 

“Also, your breath,” Harry said, shaking his head. “Foul. Though I guess Quirrel couldn’t really reach back there to brush your teeth or anything. Oh, and your chin was just kind of merged with the back of his neck, so you didn’t really have a jawline. And—“

 

“Enough,” Tom spat. Finally, _finally_ , he resembled the Voldemort that Harry knew; Harry could practically feel the power swirling around them. He pointed the holly wand at the younger boy. “You’re going to die, Harry Potter. And so will Ginny. And then Lord Voldemort will return. Very. Much. Alive.”

 

_Think,_ Harry urged himself. _Tom is a Slytherin, and he cares more about his own self-preservation than anything. Appeal to that. Make yourself useful, and you might survive this._

Tom leveled the wand at Harry’s chest. “ _Avada_ —“

 

“That’s not really in your best interests, though, is it?” Harry said, trying to keep his voice as level and disinterested as possible, though the effect was ruined by how he rushed to get the words out before Tom could finish casting the killing curse. “Killing Ginny and me, I mean.”

 

Tom clenched his teeth and looked very much like he would like to just curse Harry and be done with it, but he didn’t. “And why is that?”

 

Harry wet his lips. “You’re smart Tom. Head Boy, highest NEWT scores in a century, or at least that’s what Hermione told me. You know that if you kill the two of us, it’s as good as announcing your return. You give up the advantage of anonymity.”

 

“Ah, but I’m known to be dead, Harry,” Tom said. “No one will suspect—“

 

“Dumbledore already does.” Tom didn’t look happy at being interrupted, but whatever Harry had to say about Dumbledore was clearly worth more to the older boy. “At the end of first year, I asked if you were really gone. Dumbledore didn’t give me a clear answer—“

 

“Typical,” Tom said with a snort.

 

“But he suggested that he knew you had a way of coming back,” Harry continued. “And if he suspected you the first time the Chamber was opened, he’ll know for sure it was you now, especially if you kill me.”

 

Tom eyed him for a moment. “What if I don’t care about announcing my return? What if that’s what I want?”

 

_Think like a Slytherin,_ Harry told himself. _Spin the story to your advantage._

 

“Then you’re a bigger fool than I thought,” Harry said, trying his best to look at Tom as if he was unimpressed with the older boy. “You want power. Influence. I’m not stupid enough to think you’ll abandon your ambitions, Tom. Or did you forget that I’ve already met you?”

 

“And what?” Tom sneered at him. “You can give me what I want, Harry? You, a twelve year old boy who is firmly in Albus Dumbledore’s pocket? I think you’d betray me the first chance you get.”

 

“I’ll swear a wizard’s oath,” Harry said, surprising both of them. He realized, distantly, that this was a terrible idea, but self-preservation was winning out. “If you let me and Ginny live, I’ll help you gain power without Dumbledore’s notice.”

 

It would be a betrayal of the worst sort: to Dumbledore, to his parents’ sacrifice, to the whole wizarding world. But he wanted to live. He’d been reckless his first year, going after the stone, just as he’d been reckless now, coming down into the Chamber. But facing off against Voldemort and nearly dying had given him the awareness that while he wasn’t afraid of death, he also wasn’t eager to seek it out. Especially not when he was only twelve.

 

And Tom…Tom was not quite Voldemort yet. He was still a schoolboy, and even if he was still the most dangerous person that Harry had ever met, maybe Harry could steer Tom away from the worst of his ambitions. He didn’t know how to kill Tom, in any chance, and didn’t know if he _could_ do it, either. Killing Quirrel had been an accident. So if he couldn’t get rid of Tom, the next best thing was to put himself in a position where he could do some damage control.

 

“The Boy-Who-Lived aiding Lord Voldemort,” Tom mused, a smirk tugging at his lips. But he never once lowered the wand. “What would you have me do, Harry?”

 

“Release Ginny,” Harry said, and when Tom looked ready to protest, Harry held up a hand. “I’ll find you another person to leech off of. But you don’t want her. She’s a Weasley, and if she dies, and if Dumbledore connects it to you, you can be sure there will be hell to pay. It’s too much attention. You’d be better off with a muggle, or some nobody wizard unconnected to Dumbledore.”

 

Harry couldn’t believe what he was saying: offering to sacrifice some random person for the sake of saving Ginny’s life. But he supposed that’s what the whole deal was based on. Because he had more or less offered to hand Tom Riddle the wizarding world on a platter so long as he got to live. He would feel guilty about it later, once the adrenaline of having his own wand pointed at him by a murderer had faded.

 

Tom, for the first time since he’d appeared in the Chamber, looked amused. “You’ll willingly help me kill someone to save your little girlfriend?”

 

“Not my girlfriend,” Harry grumbled, but he didn’t think Tom was paying attention. Tom used the holly wand to brush a strand of Harry’s hair out of his face. The younger boy tried not to flinch.

 

“Perhaps you’ll surprise me yet,” Tom said. He returned to the topic at hand. “And after I have my body? What use will I have for you then?”

 

It was a good question, Harry could admit, because once Tom had a body, he’d be able to contact his allies from the war, and Harry would be of little use. _Unless…_

 

“You’ll need money,” Harry said as confidently as he could. “Which I happen to have plenty of. And an alias, a backstory. Things like that. You’ll need to research the past fifty years, of course, and find out which of your allies are in Azkaban, and which are still free. My name has a lot of weight in the wizarding world. These things will be easier with me as your ally.”

 

Tom watched Harry curiously. “All this, for your life?”

 

Harry thought back to his encounter with Voldemort in his first year, how the man had been obsessed with the philosopher’s stone, and immortal life. Perhaps Tom understood not wanting to die, too.

 

“I’ll do what I have to to stay alive,” Harry admitted. It was a weakness, perhaps, and one that Tom would make note of if he was smart. “Dumbledore has done nothing but put me in danger so far. I’ll take my chances with you.”

 

Tom nodded sharply, a strange gleam to his eyes. “I accept your terms. I will spare your life, and in turn, you will aid me in whatever way I see fit. I’ll accept nothing short of your absolute loyalty. So mote it be.”

 

Magic flared up around them.

 

Harry narrowed his eyes. “What about Ginny?”

 

“You’ve proven that killing her is not currently in my best interest,” Tom said. “I’ll let her go today, but I promise no more than that.”

 

That wasn’t ideal, of course, but Harry had nothing else to offer Tom at present that would secure the safety of his friends. And he wasn’t deluded enough to think that Tom wouldn’t kill him for refusing.

 

“Fine,” he said through gritted teeth, and took the oath. “So mote it be.” And the magic flared again.

 

Tom grinned, sharp and unnerving. “Good.”

 

He waved Harry’s wand towards the diary, creating a duplicate, and then set it on fire. Harry watched the paper burn with some confusion. _What’s the point of that?_

 

Tom motioned to the scorched diary. “This is what you’ll give to Dumbledore. Tell him you killed me before I could call the basilisk. They’ll kill her, probably, but it’s a necessary sacrifice.”

 

“And the other diary?” Harry asked. Tom picked up the undamaged one and placed it in Harry’s hands.

 

“Get someone disposable to write in it,” Tom said. “By force, if necessary.”

 

Harry nodded, shoving down the bad feeling in his gut. Tom placed a cool hand on Harry’s cheek, and Harry was surprised to find that Tom could touch him without burning away like Quirrel had.

 

“Don’t make me wait long, Harry,” he said quietly. Then he slipped the holly wand into Harry’s robes, and with a flash, disappeared back into the diary.

 

“Well, shit,” Harry said to the empty air. He’d made a deal with a murderous teenager whose sanity was in question, and yet Harry hadn’t seen another way to make it out alive. He was no good to the wizarding world dead, he tried to reason. But equally, Harry supposed that it might have been better to die than to side with Voldemort. _But better for whom?_ Harry, for one, certainly preferred this outcome even if it was more unpredictable.

 

Ginny gasped, bolting upright, her hand clasped to her chest, eyes wild. She spotted him, and then looked around the Chamber as if waiting for Tom to pop out. Eventually her eyes landed on the charred diary.

 

“Harry,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. “I didn’t mean to. It was the diary. Tom. He made me do it. I—“

 

Harry shushed her gently before she could get too hysterical. He didn’t have the time to talk her through it; they needed to get out of the Chamber as fast as possible. Harry didn’t want to risk a run-in with the basilisk.

 

“It’s alright,” he said, trying to be soothing. “It’s over now. But we have to go.”

 

“Tom’s gone?” Ginny asked uncertainly.

 

“I took care of it.” Harry tried not to feel too guilty about lying to Ginny. He had, after all, just saved her life. Surely that made up for it.

 

He helped her to her feet, picking up the fake diary as he went, and guided them back through the tunnel towards where Ron was waiting. In Harry’s pocket, the real diary thrummed with magic, content.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! I'm excited to write a Tom/Harry fic for the first time. Though I most often write Tomione, I'll happily write Tom with just about anyone. As with all of the October Spook-fest fics, I might come back and continue this story once the challenge is over.
> 
> Please feel free to leave comments and kudos. As always, I love to hear from you all. 
> 
> You can also find me on tumblr at officialsporkintheroad!


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